


Its Hour Come Round

by Burnadette_dpdl, Rebness



Category: Interview With the Vampire (1994), Vampire Chronicles - All Media Types, Vampire Chronicles - Anne Rice
Genre: Angst, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-12-12 00:49:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11726058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Burnadette_dpdl/pseuds/Burnadette_dpdl, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rebness/pseuds/Rebness
Summary: Lestat makes a surprise visit to Trinity Gate in NYC; he's decided it is time for Louis to come home. Takes place right near the beginning ofPrince Lestat.





	Its Hour Come Round

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from the poem The Second Coming by W. B. Yeats.
> 
> Enormous thanks to Rebness for collaborating on this with me, breaking a 6 month writer's block!

Lestat listened to the sound of footfall outside the bedroom. A very light step, like that of a cat -- Armand, he reasoned, followed by the deliberate, steady pace of a vampire who let his weight sink into the stylish carpet as if he had the right to pretend to be human.

He glanced towards the French doors of Louis’s bedroom, checking that he had shut them behind him when he had made his usual grand entrance through them, and gave a satisfied nod before his lip curled in disgust at the requisite mess surrounding the bed ( _"It’s called a ‘_ floordrobe’,” Benji had told him). His own clothes were neatly folded on the chaise near the window, but he had decided - in a burst of generosity - that he would toss them to one side should Louis wish to take their entertainment to the chaise. It reminded him of a strikingly similar one they’d had in the Rue Royale, a sturdy chaise that had survived many amorous encounters between them. A shock of lust crashed through him; what a generous maker he was, giving Louis a nice nostalgic visit.

Louis’s footsteps drew nearer to the door; Lestat heard him mutter something to Armand, and then the slow turn of the knob. He stretched out his tawny body, rearranged some of the rose petals to discreetly cover his treasure (better to delay Louis meeting his old friend to build the need and lust between them), ensured the silk throw was nestled over one hip invitingly, and rested his head on one hand.

The door cracked open, and Lestat let a bright, welcoming smile flash across his face. “Hello, mon--”

“Jesus _Christ!”_ gasped Louis, flailing back against the door, before darting into the room and shutting it firmly behind him.

“Louis, are you all right?” came Armand’s voice from the hallway.

“Yes, yes! I’m fine!” he said quickly, listening at the door to ensure Armand had moved away, before turning to Lestat. “What the--!” he spluttered, as his eyes raked over the nude body.

“Oh, stop your whining, Louis!” he said, waving it off with his free hand. “Armand doesn’t have to know I’m here.”

Louis shook himself, and walked over to the bed. “I think he probably does know, Lestat,” he sighed. “I wondered what was the matter with him - he mentioned something about needing to call pest control before we even entered the apartment.”

Lestat tossed his hair, letting the mood-killing jibe go unaddressed.“Whatever. Come _here.”_ He mimed reeling Louis towards him, and flicked his fangs seductively.

“Non, this is far too blatant!” Louis said, as he slapped a hand to his forehead. “I mean, couldn’t you have _called?_ Don’t you know how to use a damned phone?”

“I’m not Armand, of course I do. And anyway,” he said, pouting. “You don't answer the phone, so why should I bother?” He put his hands on the bedspread, feeling the sheets. Not very luxurious. No matter; they would need replacing soon anyway.

“Because it's common courtesy to call before you show up _nude in someone's bed!”_ he sputtered.

“Oh, spare me the old puritanical nonsense, it's common courtesy to join that someone in your bed when they travel the length of the east coast to show up nude there!” he shot back. He rose up and leaned on one elbow, drawing a knee up, unsettling a few petals.

“Now,” he said commandingly. “You’re to unfit that outfit -- I like the shirt, by the way. I presume Armand picked it? -- and get into this bed with me, and we are going to make sweet love until dawn.”

“No!” Louis snapped, dusting down his clothes furiously. “I have been looking forward to this play for _months_ , and I’m not just going to drop it for you.”

Lestat sighed. “I’m not saying you have to do that,” he said, holding up a hand placatingly. “I’ll take you tomorrow. Best seats in the house, right by the stage.” He smiled broadly; such hard won offers worked like a charm on Louis.

“It’s sold out,” he said flatly.

Exasperation flickered across Lestat’s eyes. “So we dine on a couple of theatregoers and take their tickets! It’s not like we haven’t done it before.”

“I’m going _to_ night. Besides, I thought you hated us killing culture aficionados.”

Lestat shrugged. “I’m sure I can sniff out a pair of evildoers among them.”

Louis bristled. “This is ridiculous. You utterly obstinate... I am not _-”_ he straightened up and took a sharp breath. _“We_ are not having sex right now, do you hear me! _”_

“What! Don’t be ridiculous!” Lestat shifted position, his chest rising and falling, and, lower, Adonis muscles defined softly in the dim light. The bedside oil lamp was lit with a low flame, and it grew brighter, untouched. The light brightened in Lestat’s eyes, made his hair glow against the dark wooden headboard, and the scant hair on his chest and limbs glittered invitingly. He tilted his chin down, his tone sweetening. “I’ve come all this way, _mon minou_ , of course we are! And, with all this jabbering, you haven’t even kissed me hello yet, very poor treatment of your guest.”

Louis stared at him, hard. “Now see here,” he said, gritting his teeth so that his fangs showed slightly. “Armand and I have plans. We’re going out.”

“You’ve barely given me a moment’s chance to argue my case-” Lestat sulked, a hand rising and falling back against his naked thigh.

“I’m not David, and I won’t be told.”

Lestat had no immediate response to that; he let out a stymied huff and leaned back into the pillows. They could both hear Armand moving around on a lower floor, shutting off a radio, turning out lights; Lestat’s ardour cooled a little. “Look,” he began reasonably.  “Before you go, I don’t know, painting the town red with your vertically-challenged little friend, I have someone here who wants to meet you.” Lestat said quietly.

Louis stiffened. “Whom?”

“Right here, under the rose petals,” he gestured towards them, nails glinting in the light. He grinned up at his fledgling.

“Ah.” Louis bit his lip. The petals still mostly covered it over; the velvety crimson tantalizing against the smooth, tanned flesh.

“Well, go on! Say ‘bonsoir!’”

Louis scowled at him, but leaned forward and brushed his fingertips over the petals, before gripping the tender flesh there. “I’ll see you later,” he said, with a light squeeze of his hand. “But only if you’re good.”

Lestat let out a pleased whimper at the lively handling he was receiving. “Both of us have to be good?”

Louis considered, kneading at him, drawing out another few contended sounds. His eyes scanned the room as if disinterested in his own ministrations, and came to rest on Lestat’s, gazing intently, mere inches away. “Don’t break anything, alright? Furniture, hearts, rules… the space-time continuum, at least for a few hours.”

Lestat planted a little kiss on Louis’ jawline, and then, when he didn’t move away, another on his lips. “I think we can acquiesce to those terms… Ah! You _demon!”_

Louis released him as he stood and went to his dresser. He gathered his wallet and placed it into the inside pocket of his jacket, then elegantly hooked an umbrella onto his wrist, ignoring a flustered Lestat who called out to him, “You’ve set me on fire again, you bastard!” He snarled at Louis as he grabbed the silk throw to cover his lap. “Hurry back and finish what you’ve started!”

Louis winked at him and left the room.

 

***

Armand took Louis’s arm as they exited the rooms. He waited until Benji and Sybelle had moved some way ahead before he spoke: “You’ll be in your own bedroom tonight, then?”

“Yes,” said Louis. He followed Armand down the small staircase and out into the night before he pulled the umbrella open, careful to keep it level at Armand’s back (Lestat had a wretched habit of deliberately letting rainwater sluice down into Louis’s collar, and bursting into laughter at his fledgling’s rage). “You know how it goes: one, two nights, and then he’s off again.”

Armand nodded, his eyes roving over the crowds of other stylish Upper Eastside men and women, sliding into black sedans on their way to late dinners and shows. “C’est rien,” he said softly. He often slipped into French with Louis: it had been the language of their first courtship, and as natural to him as gripping the thick black hair at the nape of that beautiful neck and kissing his way down its length. “He needs to borrow you, from time to time.”

“Is that so?” said Louis, but there was no heat in his words.

“It’s supposed to rain all night,” said Armand with a sigh. “We may have to take a taxi after the show; Sybelle doesn’t like it.”

 

***

Some hours later, Louis was in a comfortable and familiar position, nestled against his lover in his own bed. They had enjoyed some time together in his private bath, and their hair was still wet against the pillows. He reached up and tucked an errant rose petal above Lestat’s ear.

“You’re delicious, mon coeur, have I mentioned that lately?” said Lestat, nuzzling Louis’s wrist, kissing the inner flesh.

“You’ve said so at least several times tonight, in so many words,” said Louis wryly, melding himself a little more to Lestat’s body. “Any particular spot you’d care to specify? Perhaps some flowery description of my eyes, or my hair, or freckles...”

Lestat considered. “Ah, how about your little birthmark on your right inner thigh, that’s a favorite tourist destination…” He walked two fingers down Louis’ body, like a ballerina en pointe. “Asymmetrical, you know, it’s like a little misshapen heart.”

“And here we go,” scoffed Louis, closing his legs tighter as Lestat palmed his thigh and sought entrance between them.

“Open up, you tease,” he said fondly. He pressed the pad of his thumb over the mark and caressed the sensitive skin there.“Ah, you see! Look at that gorgeous little imperfection. No need to be shy about it.”

“I’m not shy,” said Louis scornfully. “Armand likes it. He says it’s like looki—“

“How exactly has he seen it?” said Lestat sharply, his hand stilling between Louis’s legs.

Louis tensed beside him. He was silent for a long moment, but stared straight back at Lestat. “Come now, don’t be consciously naïve,” he said finally. His mouth set in a firm line as Lestat pulled away from him, his face set in an expression of utmost betrayal.

“Of _course_ I _\- knew -_ but you mention it so _casually_ , as if it means nothing,” said Lestat, glaring at Louis as he clambered up and sat next to him, clutching his knees. The petal fell from over his ear, but there were several still caught in his wet hair, a fallen angel.

“Should it?” said Louis, peering up at him.

Lestat gaped. “Does it mean anything to you when I’m with you? That I’m with you _now?”_

Louis was still. A sly smile crossed his beautiful face. “Should it?” he said again.

“Oh, you are cruel, Pointe du Lac! Vicious! I’ve been had!” Lestat spat, swung his legs over the opposite side of the bed, and toed around in the semi-darkness for his jeans, which had been cast away from the chaise.

“Are you leaving right now?” said Louis, sitting up.

“I am!” He hiked his jeans up hurriedly, tearing a strip at the knee. “Shit. Damned skinny jeans.”

“It’s almost dawn-”

“Well, I’m not happy about this!”

Louis stared. “Are you serious?”

“Look, you know I dislike -- whatever it is you have going on here,” Lestat turned around, and tucked their mutual friend gently into his jeans before zipping up the fly harshly. “But I tolerate it, I tolerate it because I know you need your own space-”

“Yes and I appreciate that, but-”

“And I even tolerate that you’re becoming as impossible to reach as Gabrielle-”

 _“Ten years_ here, Lestat,” he reminded him gently.

“But I can’t tolerate your bringing _him_ up right after I’ve come all this way for a surprise bootycall!” he snapped, yanking his t-shirt on. His red leather jacket rose of its own will and spread out behind him, like wings. He reached back to get a sleeve on but stopped abruptly, brought his fist to his chest, wounded.

“It’s unfair to me, it’s grossly inappropriate-” he continued, his hands on his hips, ignoring the hovering jacket.

Louis shuddered. It always jarred him, that Lestat used clothing as a costume for his emotions so effectively. “Put your coat down,” he pleaded softly. He patted the bed beside him. “Please, it’s almost dawn. Don’t be like this. Please stay.” He reached out a pale hand in supplication.

Lestat watched him warily for a moment and then glanced at the windows, where the star-spattered sky was already lightening to a barely perceptible purplish hue. As if on cue, Louis shivered, his outstretched hand falling limp at his side.

Lestat flicked his gaze back to Louis. He knew the rigmarole of old: the coldness creeping into his lover, the deadened fingertips, the eyes turning glassy and unfocused. He shrugged off his jacket and let it fall to the floor.

There was a thin whirr and the heavy drapes swished shut over the great windows automatically (Lestat refused to be impressed even as he decided to hire an engineer to mimic Armand’s ingenious contraption). He pulled off his shirt, snaked out of his jeans and climbed back into bed in a few fluid motions. Taking Louis’ outstretched hand, he kissed his palm, and then took him in his arms entirely, pulling the blankets around them both.

“Merci, merci…” Louis whispered sleepily. He closed his eyes and smiled in the darkness as Lestat kissed his forehead.

“No need to thank me,” said Lestat with some bitterness creeping into his tone. “I’ve decided you’re entirely too much trouble, you Creole cretin. Maybe I’ll just surprise David from now on. At least _he_ doesn’t fraternize with my nemeses.”

“Yet.”

“Asshole!”

Louis snorted. “David can have you. I don’t need the drama.”

“Liar,” he said softly. “You need the excitement I inject into your dull life.” He pressed his nose against Louis’s hair and inhaled. “Why don’t you come home?”

“I am home. This _is_ home. It has been for _ten years,_ Lestat.” He shifted. “I’m really tired,” he said crossly. “Go to sleep.”

“Louis…”

He sighed. “Yes, Lestat?”

“Do you love Armand?”

Louis smiled against his lover’s chest. “Yes,” he said. His smile faded at the smallness of Lestat’s voice when he responded.

“So you don’t love me anymore.” Lestat managed to coil into himself and pull Louis closer at the same time.

Louis let out a ragged sigh. “Look, we both seek comfort in others, others we love, and that alone is not proof of our lack of love for each other, _n’est-ce pas?”_

Lestat stilled. He was tired himself, and the crackling electricity in his chest that had flared up in the first place had died down, leaving him empty and eager for comfort.

“I refuse to argue,” he said as nonchalantly as he could, clamping a hand over Louis’s mouth to forestall him. He waited for a moment, then let go. _“_ Come _home.”_

“Non.”

“What if I shower you with gifts?”

“I can’t be bribed into this, Lestat.” He laced his fingers with Lestat’s. “Has that ever worked on me? Really, think before you speak.”

“Books! Seeing as you have your heart set on spending eternity curled up on a couch reading, it shouldn’t matter where you do it. I’ll buy you more first editions-”

“I do more than read! Besides, we have shelves of first editions in our library right here.”

 _“Armand’s_ library, not yours.” Lestat huffed. “Not even if I threatened you?” he smirked in the darkness. “With extreme bodily harm?” he stroked his nails along Louis’ arm.

“Try it,” he said icily, but he grabbed Lestat’s hand and kissed it.

“If only the old rules meant something, and you would just obey your betters.”

 _“Non._ Not even if you were the King of the Damned.”

He tweaked his sleepy companion’s nose. “Not even then, huh?”

“Ah, that’s your problem,” said Louis, nuzzling into his neck. “Too persistent for your own good,” he said, yawning.

Lestat grasped for his next words - the intent slipping away from him and the argument lost when he had not expected such an argument. There was something intangible, some coming loss, like a fish wriggling off a hook. This was not at all where he thought this would go, and he stared at Louis, perplexed.

“What do you want from me, a legal commitment? You want a wedding? Vampires don’t get married,” he scoffed. “We’re not built for monogamy.”

“Mmm,” said Louis. “That’s just what I was trying to tell you.” The tension in his muscles gave way to the familiar dead weight, and Lestat shook him gently.

“Wait! No, that’s not what _I_ meant! Don’t you dare go to sleep on me when I have an argument to win!”

“Try harder…” muttered Louis, and then he was out like a light.

Lestat held the sleeping body of his lover close, and tenderly pushed back the black hair from his forehead, before planting a kiss there. “Had to have the last word, didn’t you?” he said fondly. He stroked the cool flesh contentedly, and settled more comfortably into the pillows, still holding Louis. “This isn’t over, Pointe du Lac.”


End file.
